


Forget Me Not

by Im_The_Doctor (Bofur1)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Bad Romance - Freeform, F/M, Fluff and Mush, Prompt Fill, Pursuit, Romantic Comedy, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherlock in Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-04
Updated: 2013-12-04
Packaged: 2018-01-03 10:47:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1069559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bofur1/pseuds/Im_The_Doctor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vanya Braginsky is falling in love with London's greatest consulting detective, Sherlock Holmes. Because of this, despite the doubts of her friend Molly and Sherlock's unsocial rebuffs, Vanya is determined to win Sherlock's returned affections. Nothing will stand in her way.</p><p>For my good friend A.J.!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Animangamisfit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Animangamisfit/gifts).



> Just a note to begin, this is an alternate universe where the Reichenbach fall never happened. Somehow Sherlock stopped the gunmen from killing his friends...I'll leave that to your imaginations.. :P

_I got an apology from Sherlock Homes!_ Vanya squealed mentally. _I really did!_

Just now Vanya Braginsky had bumped into her friend Molly Hooper’s old interest, Sherlock Holmes, and his friend John Watson. Watson had apologized respectfully, but the consulting detective was not in the mood to consult and simply brushed aside with some muttered something. Vanya knew deep down she couldn’t quite call it an apology—especially not after what she’d heard from Molly about Sherlock’s social ineptitude—but in the more superficial places of her mind she had convinced herself.

Thus Vanya sat down near the window of her small artistry shop moderately pleased. As she readied her paper she dwelled on her last conversation with Molly.

“So, Sherlock...he sounds remarkable,” she’d commented. At Molly’s raised eyebrows Vanya added hastily, “Well, with all his amazing detective work that I’ve seen in the papers...” She trailed off, a slight flush pinking her cheeks.

There was no need for excuses. Molly had caught the tone and she might have been resentful, but her crush on Sherlock had been—well, _crushed_ long ago. “You can try to meet him if you want. Maybe you’ll have better luck than I did.”

Doubt had rung clear in Molly’s tone, but Vanya had smiled and thanked her shyly. Molly had been a dear friend since childhood and they really _understood_ each other.

 _Wait till Molly hears about_ this _! She probably won’t believe me_ , Vanya daydreamed. Realistic thoughts interrupted: _All you did was bump into him_.

“But I bumped into him and he talked to me,” Vanya responded to the realistic side of her. “That’s a good start.” Refusing to be put down, she began sketching a face. Before Vanya quite knew what was happening, curly hair, prominent cheekbones, and a long nose had appeared on the paper.

Vanya blinked at her sketch of Sherlock first in surprise and then in devious pleasure. Her shop was standing just across from 221b...She could put it up in the window...

It would be an incredibly daring move to make so soon, Vanya knew, but the pencil in her hand was working before she could decide against her plan. She worked on Sherlock’s eyes for a long while, exploring ways to highlight the sharp brilliance she’d seen there in their encounter.

When it was inked and colored, Vanya almost wanted to take it back to her flat. That would defeat the purposes of her plan, however, so she took the finished art and hung it prominently in the window.

All day Vanya waited for Sherlock and Watson to return. Eventually they did come and Vanya’s stomach lurched as they stopped to allow the cabs pass—right in front of her shop. She ducked her head over her latest drawing, watching the pair from beneath her long lashes. The shop door was cracked to allow a slight draft, giving Vanya the opportunity to inconspicuously eavesdrop.

Watson noticed the art first. He nudged his companion in the shoulder, commenting, “Look there, Sherlock. You’re a public interest, even more than we thought!”

Sherlock followed Watson’s gaze and sighed. “If the public had better things to do, I might be more interested in them.”

Vanya flinched. Even though it wasn’t specifically _her_ who was being degraded, she felt responsible for the insult to the rest of the public. Therefore the drawing snuck into her purse and went home with her to be framed later.


	2. Chapter 2

_Here we go again..._

Vanya gazed around the busy café and spotted Sherlock alone at a table in the corner. She’d noticed his entry (how could anyone not, what with the dramatic sweep of his overcoat?) and then had lost him in the crowd until now.

In a way, Vanya was quite grateful for the crowd. In this café it was ordinary for strangers to share tables when there wasn’t any other room. So far, Vanya hadn’t seen any empty seats aside from the one at Sherlock’s table. John Watson must be otherwise occupied.

Swallowing her trepidation with a mouthful of tea, Vanya approached the table. The detective didn’t look up from his book on the table, not even when Vanya cleared her throat.

“Can I have this chair?” she asked, hoping she sounded natural.

Sherlock shrugged offhandedly, which Vanya took as consent. Scooting the chair slightly away from the table, Vanya sat down and took another sip of tea to calm her quivering nerves.

As Sherlock studied his book, Vanya studied him. Mentally she compared her drawing with his real face and found, much to her satisfaction, that she had been almost exactly accurate. The jaw should have been a little bit longer, she realized, but other than that the art was perfect.

“Pardon,” Sherlock announced abruptly, “but would you please stop staring?”

Vanya paled. Had it been that obvious? _Of course it was!_ Vanya mentally admonished herself. _You’re dealing with London’s greatest detective!_

She squeaked out something that apparently satisfied him, but the following silence was awkward. It was broken again, surprisingly, by Sherlock.

“When you said ‘Can I have this chair?’ did you mean you were going to take it somewhere else? Because I prefer to be alone when I’m thinking,” Sherlock stated straightforwardly with head still bent.

Vanya leapt hastily to her feet, the tea sloshing in her cup. “Oh, sorry, of course. Um, sure, I’ll leave you to think.” As she hooked an arm around the chair to pull it away, Vanya  
stammered, “Ah, I’m Vanya Braginsky.”

Sherlock’s eyes never met hers, but his head tilted slightly in a why-would-I-need-to-know-that sort of way. “Sherlock Holmes.”

Vanya nodded vigorously. “I know.” She made her retreat before her legs got any weaker.

Once she was seated a few yards away, Vanya allowed herself to feel the poignant distress of her failure. With that sort of introduction, Sherlock would likely have forgotten her existence by the end of the day.

Vanya watched in despair as John Watson appeared. She only heard his words of greeting because he had to raise his voice in the bustle.

“Sorry I’m late, Sherlock.”

“You’re _too_ late, John,” Sherlock replied. “A girl took your chair.”

Vanya groaned under her breath, burying her head in her hands. Sherlock would remember her, after all. _The girl who took John’s chair. Yes, that’s me._


	3. Chapter 3

Sirens were wailing near the deserted alleyway by Vanya’s flat. Curious, she craned her neck to see the faces of those involved, wondering if a certain detective was present.

“Oh, stop it,” she muttered to herself. “It’s been four days; he’s likely forgotten you and you need to return the favor. You don’t want to end up like poor Molly, so it’s likely for the best—”

All at once black lightning bolts seemed to strike the asphalt at Vanya’s feet. Bullets! With a yelp of shock, Vanya burst into a sprint, heading straight for the gathering of constables.

The men heard her cries of “Gunman!” and whirled. Watson had his weapon out first and the others swiftly followed his lead. Shots sprayed the air in both directions and Vanya was certain she would be one of the casualties in the end. Then someone grabbed her arm and hurled her to the ground behind a parked car.

Shaking off her daze, Vanya found herself nose to nose with Sherlock. For what seemed an eternity in a second they stared at each other. Vanya realized with a shiver that it was the first time they’d actually looked each other in the eye. When the fire ceased, Sherlock rose silently. Vanya followed suit, gaping in utter disbelief.

“Sherlock!” she gasped, though technically they never were on a first-name basis. “I...Thank—”

Without waiting for her to finish, Sherlock brushed off his coat, pivoted, and stalked off toward Detective Inspector Lestrade. Vanya’s words of gratitude died away and she felt intense emotion settle in her throat.

With a deep sigh, Vanya hooked her mussed hair behind her ear and made to leave. As she passed Sherlock and Lestrade, she caught a snippet of their heated conversation.

“...I told you he would be covered, did I not?” Sherlock snapped at Lestrade, his gunmetal-gray eyes blazing. “But you with your empty head didn’t listen. Not only did he escape, you almost got Vanya killed!”

Vanya froze, turning slightly. Sherlock had remembered her name?

“Vanya? Who on earth is that?” Lestrade demanded, believing he was falsely accused.

“Well, obviously it’s a woman’s name and I only see two women here—Anderson and that one there,” Sherlock declared icily, gesturing to both people at once.

Anderson growled, but Lestrade paid no attention. “Miss,” he sighed with an expression of weary tolerance, “are you alright?”

Vanya was unable to repress an excited smile as she exclaimed an affirmative. Lestrade looked doubtful and despite her reassurances, Vanya ended up sitting on the back of an ambulance with a shock blanket draped over her shoulders. She needed it, for she truly was in shock. Sherlock had saved her life, remembered her name, and seemed to care about her wellbeing all in one night! She watched the detective with satisfaction as he talked with the lawmen.

After the medical staff allowed her to stand, Vanya shuffled toward Sherlock, saying his name tentatively. Sherlock turned, a deep frown troubling his face.

“Yes, what do you need?”

Vanya smiled slightly. “Y-you saved my life.”

“I remember that; it was only a few seconds ago,” Sherlock stated impatiently.

“Well,” Vanya started uncomfortably. “I wanted to—”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Oh, for goodness sake!” All at once Vanya was in his arms, her lips pressed against his.

The Bobbies buzzed, Lestrade gawked, and Watson distinctly yelped. Then it was over and Sherlock was blustering away toward a waiting cab, leaving Vanya to stand dumbstruck in the middle of the street.

Vanya touched a hand to her mouth, feeling the lingering burn of Holmes’ kiss. She watched Watson dash after Sherlock, crying out to him.

“Sherlock! What on earth was that about?!”

“Simply putting the poor girl out of her misery, John,” Sherlock replied calmly. “If she’d been given a second more, she would have said something to humiliate herself.”

Vanya blushed from the roots of her hair to the tips of her toes. Hugging the blanket closer around her shoulders, she watched John and Sherlock leave and made a mental note to call Molly as soon as possible.


	4. Chapter 4

“Oh, hello, dearie!” Sherlock’s landlady exclaimed. “You must be that girl Sherlock invited for tea. I’m Mrs. Hudson.”

“Vanya Braginsky. It’s nice to meet you,” Vanya introduced herself, the tight knot in her stomach easing a little at the cheery greeting.

Mrs. Hudson chattered all the way up the stairs and Vanya listened attentively—anything to take her mind off her nervousness. When she reached the ominous door at the top of the stairs, Vanya stopped. For a split second she was paralyzed. Thankfully Mrs. Hudson was kind enough to open the door for her.

“Sherlock, your visitor’s here,” Mrs. Hudson called in a tone that said she was pleased about this. Leaning over conspiratorially, Mrs. Hudson whispered to Vanya, “He doesn’t get many visitors, so try to stay as long as you can.”

Vanya gave her a tense smile and entered the room. Jumping as the door banged shut behind her, Vanya shuffled forward and peered to the left into the kitchen. The refrigerator door was open and when it closed, Sherlock’s solemn face appeared.

“Vanya.”

With one word Sherlock made her numb.

“Sherlock. You saved my life last night and...I never got to thank you.”

Sherlock strode stiffly forward, gesturing to one of the chairs in the room. “Sit, would you?”

Vanya nodded, sinking down into the plush seat closest her. She noticed a newspaper lying over the armrest and glanced at the headline. She lurched, startled by what she saw.

** Sherlock Holmes Gives Proof of Heart **

“‘Proof of heart’?” Vanya echoed, mostly to herself. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Sherlock was pacing. “All of London thinks I supposedly care for the general people, that I ‘have heart’, because I saved your life.” He stopped, scowling agitatedly down at her. “I’ll have you know that if I did have a heart, I _wouldn’t_ have saved you.”

Vanya blinked uncomprehendingly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Sherlock began explaining with impatience. “If I had a heart, if I cared for the general public—which includes me, by the way, however it may seem otherwise—anyway, if I had a heart, which I don’t, I would have been too concerned with my own wellbeing to save you. You would have been struck down in cold blood and I would have screamed and run to hide. Isn’t that what the general public does?” He ran his hands through his dark hair. “Now they all think it’s the other way around.”

“I’m here so you can scold me?” she asked cautiously.

Sherlock nodded. “I’m afraid so.”

Vanya swallowed hard. “Well...are you finished? Because I have something to say too.”

Sherlock’s brows knit as she stood in front of him. Vanya looked him up and down, commenting, “Did you even change from last night? You’re filthy from the street.”

Sherlock made to back up. “If you’re planning to—” He was too late. Fisting into the front of his shirt, Vanya pulled him into a kiss. It was abrupt enough that Sherlock didn’t push her away immediately and Vanya laughed silently in triumph.

Eventually Sherlock did slowly pull back, murmuring, “You shouldn’t have interrupted me.”

“You weren’t saying anything interesting,” Vanya replied bashfully.

Sherlock shook off his daze, agreeing gingerly, “N-No, I guess I wasn’t.”

“Did my answer interest you?”

A glimmer of a smile crept across Sherlock’s face. “I think it did. I may want to...ah, review in more detail.” Sherlock shuffled forward and Vanya met him, slipping her hands into his.

Mrs. Hudson appeared at that moment. “Sherlock, I just realized we don’t even have tea! How are you going to—?” She gasped, clapping a hand over her mouth when she saw the stormy expression on Sherlock’s face and the tightening of his hands around Vanya’s. “Oh! Sorry,” she peeped, quickly retreating and closing the door.

Sherlock released a sigh. “Where were we?”

“Reviewing,” Vanya whispered. “In more detail.”

“Right...” Sherlock leaned in, but Vanya bumped their noses together to stop him.

“Just one thing, Sherlock. I thought you didn’t care for the general public.”

“You’re not general,” Sherlock countered quietly, “unless you believe I have a heart.”

“I’m sorry, then, but I must be general.” Vanya met his eyes. “Because I do believe that.”

Sherlock jerked. “What do you mean?” he asked cautiously.

“You have _my_ heart, Sherlock. You always will.”

Vanya sat straight up in bed with a startled gasp. She cast about for Sherlock and then groaned, burying her head in her hands. A dream...!


	5. Chapter 5

“There had to be some reason why Franco would go to that specific group of flats,” Sherlock proclaimed to John, who sat drinking tea nearby.

“You already told me the reason why,” John answered, his brows furrowing in confusion at Sherlock’s forgetfulness. “It was where his accomplice Gerard was murdered. He was checking about for the stolen vase, which Gerard had with him that night.”

“Yes, yes, you’re right, sorry.” Running his hands through his hair, Sherlock groaned. “Oh, I need sleep, or maybe just some quiet, or perhaps some—give me that.” Snatching the cup of strong tea from John’s hand, Sherlock swallowed all the contents in one gulp. “Ugh, that didn’t help at all.” Eventually he ended up stalking to his violin. Discordant notes bellowed into the air.

John winced as he rose to his feet, calling out over the harsh squealing of Sherlock’s instrument, “You’re really distracted tonight, Sherlock.”

“I’m not distracted at all!” Sherlock hollered irately.

“Then what’s wrong? I haven’t seen you this edgy since Moriarty!”

Sherlock let out a rather disturbing curse and threw the violin aside. Taking up his handgun, he whirled toward the wall. John hit the ground just before his flatmate opened fire. Sherlock unloaded five rounds into the wall before tossing the gun down as well.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me, John! I can’t focus; I can’t do anything without getting sidetracked. I’m forgetting clues that I’ve already figured out and I can’t even decipher the new information we have! This isn’t supposed to happen, not to me!” Sherlock ranted, flinging his hands wildly about for emphasis.

“ _What_ isn’t supposed to happen?” John demanded as he leapt to his feet. “Sherlock, what in the world is wrong with you?! You haven’t shot at the wall in ages—”

“Get out so I can think,” Sherlock commanded, seizing John’s arm and steering him toward the exit. Ignoring his friend’s cries of protest, Sherlock shoved him out, slammed the door, and collapsed onto the carpet, banging his forehead against it.

He’d only ever had trouble processing data when he was a child, when he was young enough to be overwhelmed by the brain-flow. What was it that taxed him now?! Sherlock pressed his eyes closed and began sorting through the events of the past few days, hunting down the source of his distraction. Was there something he hadn’t processed thoroughly? It had to be something extreme to irk him so, but what was it?

In the dark behind Sherlock’s eyelids flashed shining brown eyes and a tentative smile. He could feel the edge of an orange blanket brush against him as he pulled its wearer against him.

Sherlock understood his ailment now, but he spoke the name to confirm the truth he already knew with reluctance. The name to appease his need, the name of his problem’s solution.

Vanya.

Rising unsteadily from the floor, Sherlock took a breath and reached for his phone.


	6. Chapter 6

Vanya beamed as she watched Molly’s mouth fall open.

“Are we talking about the same Sherlock Holmes? He saved you and then actually kissed you?!” she gasped in disbelief, clinging to her coffee cup.

Vanya nodded ecstatically. “Right there in the street, in front of John and Lestrade and all those bobbies! Then last night I had this dream.”

Molly raised an eyebrow. “You dreamed about it?”

“And when I woke up I decided to frame this picture I drew and bring with me when I called you,” Vanya announced, gesturing to the art on the table between them.

“Oh, you’re bold, Vanya!” Molly declared. “But if you’ve already gotten him to kiss you...”

 “It seems unbelievable, but deep down I know it really happened. I have to admit, I very nearly fainted after he left.” Vanya giggled like a schoolgirl, but Molly didn’t mind. She remembered the adoration she’d once had for Sherlock and understood her good friend perfectly.

“He has that effect on everyone, especially after he’s solved some impossible crime,” Molly agreed, sipping her coffee.

“Of course Sherlock said to John that the kiss was just to get rid of me or put me out of my misery or something like that, but I really think there may be hope for us!” Vanya exclaimed gleefully.

“Just be careful how quickly you get attached to him,” Molly warned her. “Even if he does love you back, he may want to start out slow.”

“Slow doesn’t seem his style,” Vanya remarked. “But I’ll take your word for it.” She sighed dreamily. “ _He_ kissed _me_. It’s just unbelievable.”

“Well, what was it like?” Molly asked, leaning forward.

“It felt...dangerous, somehow.” Vanya tried to verbalize the sensation of their kiss. “Dangerous and sharp but adorable and charming all at once. Ha, I can’t believe I’m talking about Sherlock Holmes like he’s any other man!”

After a few minutes more Vanya bid farewell to Molly and hailed a cab to drive her home. She was just stepping in when she heard her phone chime gently in her purse. Upon checking it, Vanya found a short text, only a couple lines long:

_You know where to find me._

_Come as soon as possible. Must talk._

_S.H._

The taxi’s wheels screeched on the paving as the driver made a rapid U-turn and zoomed toward Baker Street.


End file.
